


Little Moments in the Wasteland

by Maximillion202



Category: Fallout 3, Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Bigotry & Prejudice, Crimes & Criminals, Domestic Violence (Mentioned), Drabble Collection, Drama, Drug Use, F/M, Fluff, Gun Violence, M/M, Pining, Ships are gonna happen eventually but are not in all the drabbles, Slice of Life, Suicidal Thoughts, This is my first thing I've ever posted so please be gentle, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23076820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maximillion202/pseuds/Maximillion202
Summary: This is a small collection of drabbles about my various Fallout Protagonists. Tags, characters and relationships will be added as needed. Everything from sharing noodles at Diamond City to a game of Caravan in Novac, these moments seek to explore the depths of my beloved characters as well as the canon ones they interact with. Might be slightly canon-divergent in some respects but I will stick to the main canon of the games as much as possible. Don't like don't read. I write for fun and this is to be enjoyed but I don't mind mild critique.
Relationships: Courier Six & Everybody, Female Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine, John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor, Nate/Female Sole Survivor
Kudos: 4





	1. Can't Explain the Smoke Stacks

The smell, before anything else.

In a way, it was enticing.. Specifically to the mixture of beer and gecko steak that was still being digested. His hands came to his belly with caution, as if the meekest of movement would send his guts flying out one of his two ends. And given the recent news, Elias wasn’t the least bit keen on flirting with a toilet for the better part of the afternoon, thank you very much.

He kept himself restrained as the charred burning, singed flesh barged into his sinuses. The smoke came next, sure he’d seen it just up the road but.. Maybe he oughta’ get his eyes checked, because there was no conceivable fucking way the stacks towered as high as they did. Lips dry, his stomach lurched, refusing to settle- sight and smell were now worked as a team to provoke his nausea. It didn’t help when he saw them, the flags that is. Like a big-ass sign with the words “God is dead n’ we killed him” scrawled on the fabric.. It didn’t say that, to be true- but it may as well have.

Caesar’s Legion..

Realistically, he couldn’t have known that. His past forcibly removed from his head thanks to two permissive bullets.. But his head ached, something pounding on the scars beneath his hat.. Even if he didn’t quite remember, the barbarity would’ve been obvious to anyone. He’d already heard much of the monsters, but this was his first time witnessing it.

The following sense was what he heard, or.. Lack there of. Yeah, sure- the atrocities that lay before him were enough to make a low whine bounce around in his ear canals but in the realm of reality, Elias was certain silence ruled over all. Even ED-E was uncharacteristically quiet, the groan of his hovering and occasional beeps and boops reduced to a cold, hard, nothing. But there was the buzzing, the buzzing that escaped his memory..

Then, footsteps- louder than any he’d ever heard. Rushing in his particular direction, caravan shotgun suddenly felt heavier on his back, and Elias found it in his hands before he could register that he’d drawn it. But instead of being met with some nice, friendly bullet holes and your standard greeting of “DIE ASSHOLE!”, Elias heard.. Cheering? Over the hill he came, a Powder Ganger by the looks of it.. But it seemed as though the Courier’s implied presence did nothing to deter his excitement. “YEAH! Who won the lottery?! I did!”

The convict’s appearance was unassuming, shirtless with dynamite unlit but snug to his chest, glasses of some prescription loose on his pudgy face.. His demeanor didn’t at all match his outfit. The other pumped his fist into the air, a gleam of mania behind that glass. “ _Smell that air!_ Couldn’t ya just drink it like **_BOOZE?!_** ” Following his little outburst, an uncomfortably joyful laugh erupted past his lips. Being very firmly present, Elias couldn’t imagine the look on his own face right now but he guessed it didn’t quite share the sentiment. He wet his lips, tasting dirt. “Are.. y’okay?”

That damned grin never seemed to leave the con’s face. “Are you kidding me? Never felt better!” A tone of victory, triumph, like the fucker just gotten into a battle with 30 Deathclaws and somehow won. Shifting on his feet, the courier quietly disliked how quite his robot companion was being, and instinctively glanced back to the Eyebot. Yep, still there, probably just as floored as he was. “Uh..” Words, words- what words could he used when roasted flesh and rubber stung his nose? “What.. sort of lottery did’ya win?” Understandably, he was reluctant to ask.

Briefly, the Powder Ganger look betrayed- as if Elias had just tried to rob him of an earned success. His face twisted into utter disgust at the mailman’s lack of context. “What lottery?.. **THE** lottery, thats what lottery! Are you _stupid?!_ ”

Fuck, did the asshole expect him to telepathically understand his supposed triumph? Then again, given the atmosphere of death and destruction they found themselves in, maybe he should’ve known. He was brought from festering thoughts at that obnoxious voice dismissing his apparent dumbassery. “Only lottery that matters.” That condescending smirk was back and it was worse than ever. “Oh my GOD, smell that AIR!”

Wasn’t sure why he asked the next question, but maybe the mailman just wanted to be grounded in reality for one goddamn second. “Are you a Powder Ganger?” Obviously, yeah, the asshole was. But let him have a moment, a moment to be stupid in this cruel fucking world.

This time, the guy seemed more surprised than anything, taken out of his celebratory yapping. “Powder Ganger? What-?” He regains himself. “I mean, yeah, used to be, sure.” Again, with the dismissive tone. Elias’s mind flickers back to the correctional facility and he wonders if the asshole would even give a shit to know that all of his buddies were in the dirt. And.. that was confirmed shortly after, “But not no more!” He laughed. “Powder Gang is small-time, man! I’m a winner! I won the motherfucking **_Lot-ter-y!_** ” It was almost a song, of sickening glee. Elias decided he had enough of this dude. Slinging his gun over his back, his golden eyes were drawn back to the black clouds filling the sky. “Uh.. I gotta go man, but have fun..”

Fucker didn’t hesitate, off like a bullet- leaving the Courier with his robot and the aftermath of what happened here. The wind whipped, blowing little papers that hadn’t yet been burned up to his feet. Kneeling over, he plucked one off the ground and turned it over in his hands. A lottery ticket.

Elias didn’t believe in God or Hell, but he supposed.. He better start.


	2. Buyer's Regret

“Word on camp golf is that many NCR Rangers can expect redeployment in the near future. ..One anonymous soldier said it was part of a new strategy..”

Fucker had 22 now and was in the lead, with the Courier’s top caravan only meeting a meesely 19. Elias held his hand close, peering over the cards as if anticipating the move to end a world championship. An amused grin played upon his lips as he watched Cliff make a crude face. “This isn’t Blackjack, you know- no need to be so serious.” He might’ve scoffed, but Elias caught the little laugh on the tail end of his breath. His small grin turned into a wide beam. “With 932 caps on the line? Bite my ass.”

There was no venom in the courier’s tone of course. The man swore up a storm at the best of times but it was always spoken with tease and fun. Briscoe didn’t know the fella for too long, but the mailman seemed comfortable with just about anybody. And while that wasn’t quite true, Elias could at least maintain the illusion.

Ruffling through his cards, his mind wandered to the radio. It was the only other source of noise in the otherwise quiet giftshop. It seemed that the fight between the Legion and NCR was the only thing Mr. New Vegas reported on these days. Occasionally a commercial for a casino or gun store might sidle on through but nothing seemed as important in the Mojave as the Bull and the Bear. Golden eyes flitted back to his hand, slapping down a card ontop of Cliff’s 9 of clubs.. A Jack of spades. That smile was ever enduring as Cliff swore.

“So, I was wonderin’ somethin…” He began. No, he hadn’t lured the shop owner into the card game for the sole purpose of bargaining.. But he did find it easier to negotiate if everyone found themselves on the same level. Just two “friends” playing a game, and maybe talking about those rocket toys he’d mentioned earlier. Cliff placed a 4 of Spades on his second pile, no longer winning but climbing back to the Tops. “Yeah? Wondering about what?” A 7 of spades.. Perfect. Elias finished his second caravan with a high score of 26. Cliff bounced his leg on the other side of the counter, a nearby T-Rex figurine nearly falling over from the movement. Thankfully, Elias caught the dinosaur and sat him right back up. “I was thinkin’.. Could I by chance purchase yer remainin’ rocket souvenirs?”

Cliff nearly dropped his whole deck and the mailman had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the look on his face. By how the land lies, it seemed the shop keep had been trying desperately to get rid of the damn things, but found no willing buyers in this sandy tundra. He then threw a nine on the table, their second caravans now twins in number. The game was on. “R-..Really?” He said with a relieved expression on his face. “I never thought I’d see the day..”

Suddenly, he recovered- straightening up in his seat to regain composure. “I mean..” A pause. “.. the day I’d part with them for such an incredibly low price.” Another moment of silence before Cliff thought to add:“..With so many other orders floodin’ in.” Bullshit, but Eli wouldn’t call him on it. ‘Let the man save his pride’, he thought to himself. His little celebration at matching the Courier didn’t last long, as Elias sprung another Jack on the poor shop keep and he had to retract the card. Briscoe then flung an ace on the table. Now, Elias could get started on his next pile..

“But I like ya..” That.. took the mailman out of the game for a moment, head picked up as his hat settled from the movement. Cliff smiled like he was doing Elias a favor. The truth of the matter was different though.. The adventurous type he was, the cowboy had already searched the local area for the igniting agent and found a jar on some corpse. Poor Mr. RADical, maybe Elias could continue his legend by wearing that nice radiation suit every now and again? Really, he just wanted to see how the liquid inside the rockets would compare. Oop- Cliff was talking again and he’d zoned out, he gave the courier an impatient look and repeated himself. “I said- I like ya, I think maybe its time. All thats left is in that storage room there. You can buy the key.. For 80 caps.” Elias brewed over the deal in his noggin. Didn’t think he could barter well-enough to convince Cliff to lower the price.. And if he won this game of Caravan, it wouldn’t really matter. So, he nodded in agreement. “Alrigh’..but lemme win this game first..” He was a downright smug bastard.

Of course, being in the good mood he was- the courier won. Cliff forked over his ante and Elias returned 80 of those same caps. Rising from his stool, the cowboy made a face. Shuffling his cards, Cliff lifted an eyebrow. “Buyers regret?” He asked with amusement, but Elias simply shook his head. “Naw.. I just realized that I didn’ ask ya how many were there before buyin’ that key..” As if to answer his own wonder, Elias strode around the counter and over to the locked door. He could feel Cliff’s eyes on his back, no doubt filled with mischief. The gentle click was barely heard above the now blaring music from the radio. The door swung open, and for a second or two.. Elias could only stare. Then, laughter. Gut-punching, knee-slapping, uproaring laughter shot from his mouth. His arms clutched his stomach in a tinge of pain from laughing so damn hard. Behind him, the bastard Briscoe could only smile.

  
Elias would’ve taken them all, as they weighed next to nothing.. But ED-E demanded he put a few back after 88, or at least thats what the Courier thought he said.


	3. Not a Habit

“Whoa, Blue- you all there?”

Fran’s hand fell to the counter, gripping the edge and leaning her weight on it. It felt like her brain had become some kind of phantom, an out-of-body cerebral experience. She was all too familiar with the sensation, even if it hadn’t popped it’s obnoxious head into her life for two centuries. Fingers flew to her temple, rubbing gentle circles into the skin of her temple. Being fluent in her condition, she should’ve seen the symptoms, saw the signs.. But every cell in her body was a bit too preoccupied with finding her baby, and taking care of the “errands” she inevitably stacked on in the hope to distract herself, unknowingly.

Piper didn’t hesitate much with physical contact, the reporter’s middle name had to be “abrasive”. Palms were placed on Fran’s shoulders as she was steered to a stool. Nearby, a few Diamond City settlers murmured among their bowls of noodles and Nuka Cola. Apparently, her little spell of dizziness wasn’t as subtle as she’d hoped. Piper was now in Fran’s space, looking her over- the reporter noticed a somewhat glazed look in her friend’s green eyes. “Blue? Are you okay?... C’mon, how many fingers am I holding up?” She’d done just that, keeping a steady grip on Fran’s shoulder to keep the mother upright, dim gaze staring at Piper’s gloved hand.

“Twenty..” A smirk, tugging at the corner of Fran’s lip. “Nah, I’m kidding.. Five. I’m fine, Piper..” Naturally, the other was unconvinced. Francis leaned back against the counter, overhearing the gentle scraping of a wooden spoon against a bowl. “I uh.. I don’t think I ate today..” Her companion pursed her lips in disapproval, eyebrows knitting together with a sigh. “What? Jeez, Blue- we’ve been running around all day and you didn’t eat anything for breakfast?” 

Fran only shrugged her shoulders in response. “Don’t look at me like that, I’ve.. y’know- just been trying to focus on finding Shaun.. I’ve already been delaying going to Valentine’s, I wanted it over with today- so I ran out of the Dugout first thing.. I don’t make it a habit not to eat..” Not anymore, anyway. With the caps she’d earned, accessing food was no issue.. Not like before, when little fainting spells presided over her teenage self. Piper’s face softened, noticing how quiet and sheepish Fran’s tone had lowered. It didn’t suit the normally bombastic vault dweller.

A few heavy footsteps came up from behind Fran, a phrase she’d become accustomed to followed.  _ "Nan-ni shimasho-ka?"  _ Ah, what a life to live as a Japanese protection that could only parrot one phrase, how simple.. Francis almost envied Takahashi at times. Her hair unfurled, flowing around her head like a brooding storm as she turned to face the robot. “Heya, Takahashi.. Can I have a bowl? Blood sugars low..” The machine only repeated his defining phrase, but this time in acknowledgement- trotting over to the nearby pot to ladle some noodles into a rusty bowl. Out of the corner of her eye, Fran saw Piper plop herself down in the seat aside. “Make that two, Takahashi!” The newsie called after him, pulling out her pack and digging through it.

Francis faced the counter now, elbows propping her head up as she wavered in a subdued fashion. Her dirt-covered fingers laced through dark brown locks, still in excellent condition with the grime of the Commonwealth considered. It took only a few seconds for the Protectron to return with both bowls. Piper still excavated the contents of her bag, leaving it up to Fran to take the food and thank the bot.

Finally, Piper seemed to unearth what she was looking for. “Got it, knew it was in here somewhere-” Honestly, Fran didn’t know what she expected to see- but a whole box of sugar bombs wasn’t it. Sure, the vault dweller knew Piper carried some around on occasion, but how the reporter was able to fit it with all her other crap was beyond Fran’s comprehensive abilities. Setting down the box, the newsie pushed it over to her companion with an expectant look. “Eat these, once you’re done with the noodles.. Always gives me a pick-me up.”

As fun as they were for breakfast, the sugary contents of America’s favorite cereal probably wouldn’t pair well with the otherwise plain nature of Takahashi’s noodles. Still, it was a kind gesture, and Francis couldn’t hide her smile- freckles prominent on her cheeks. It had been the first real grin the vault dweller had all day, and Piper was happy to be the cause. Normally, Fran would just drink a Nuka Cola and be done with it.. But sitting down for a meal with a friend was.. Nice, for lack of a better term. A certain level of comfort came with just.. Hanging out. No ducking behind a wall to avoid the fire of super mutants or lying awake alone, thinking about all the what ifs.. In these types of situations, Fran was able to let go.. If only for a moment.

Soon, they’d have to meet up with the synth detective back at the agency.. Rescuing the Noire fella wasn’t an easy task.. And cops didn’t exactly give her peace of mind. But at least she could distance herself from the whole situation, finding solace in noodles and sugar bombs.. And good company.


End file.
